Turning Tables
by LoveUnderLockAndKey
Summary: Lady Mary won't let the darkness claim Anna without a fight. It's time to lovingly turn the tables. Takes place during Christmas at Downton Abbey.


A bit of a self-indulgent piece, I'm afraid. After watching Christmas at Downton Abbey, I desperately needed Anna to have someone, anyone, to comfort her and see her through the immediate time after the verdict. I also needed to resolve some unresolved feelings towards Mary. All stiff upper lip pretense is thrown out the window in the name of loving friendship.

Disclaimer: Just borrowing the lovely characters of Downton to provide explanations for the unanswerable questions that arise in my head. Sincerest thanks, as always, to Sir Fellowes and ITV for providing the groundwork.

Turning Tables

Guilty.

No sooner had the first letter of the damning sentence been verbalized than the most gutting sound I've ever heard filled the otherwise colourless courtroom. It was Anna.

My Anna.

My eyes lowered of their own accord as my mind slowly worked to process everything going on around me. Anna's soul-piercing scream, the resounding gasps, the magistrate's cold pronunciation of the ruling. It was all a massive garble until the words "until you are dead" came. Anna, looking as small and helpless as I've ever seen her, leapt to her feet, crying out to the injustice of it all.

And Bates.

Never in my life have I seen a more defeated man. Heavy tears dropped down his cheeks, any signs of hope and light, which were barely visible in his eyes at the start, were now so faded as to appear already dead, until he looked over at Anna. My heart broke for the both of them as he could not manage anything but her name, desperate to give whatever consolation he had left in himself over to her before they would tear him away forever.

I stood with her, side by side, taking her arm and gladly becoming her scaffold. I let her lean into me as the tears started to flow. There was no other way. How many times had she done this very act for me?

Though our respective social standings have kept a certain respectable distance between us, she was, that is she is, the best friend I have ever had. She has never failed to remind me that I am capable of feeling, loving even, despite my fears of a hollow, heartless existence. Sometimes with words, but often with just a look, a cheerful grin, encouraging eyes, and sometimes a comforting hand weighted upon my shoulder or resting on my own. She is my constant companion, never judging, always encouraging.

How is she going to survive this?

I cannot bear to leave her side as we leave the courtroom and make our way to the inn. I am glad that Papa, Isobel and Matthew are with us, but it is I that has to do this. As much as Anna needs to hear where we must go from here, I fear that it is all a frightful confusion of noise and clatter. I know that she cannot be thinking of anything but Bates, cold and alone, facing certain death for a crime he is most certainly innocent of. In my blessed life, I have been spared the knowledge of the inner workings of the legal system. I am losing my innocence, beginning to learn the meaning of injustice in the worst possible way.

The lawyers address how we must proceed. There might be a chance, albeit slim, to bring the case around slightly. Perhaps it will not be enough to commute altogether, but to save Bates from the unthinkable. I ask her if she understands, not because I think she is unintelligent about such matters, but because I want to gauge her clarity. I must know that she can hear us. That we are cutting through the devastation.

I help her into the car and sit beside her, my charge for the foreseeable future. She has never faltered to be at my side, invited or not, when I've needed her. I can only do the same now.

I reach over and take her hand in mine. It is an awfully small gesture, but the only thing I can think to do now. The tears are silent but flow freely; she tries to hide them by staring out the window. I surely am not known as a particularly affectionate person, adding to the whisperings of my cold demeanor. I am all too aware of my heart now as the small wisp of it that I do have is breaking for her as I watch her try and fight against the emotion, to keep a sense of dignity through it all.

I wish she didn't feel as if it were necessary. I want her to feel that it is just her and I. I am here. It is my turn not to judge, to encourage and support; I will show her this. I will make her understand. She is my soul mate, if not in the romantic sense of the word. She has always been my unacknowledged sister, standing with me against the world.

I release her hand, moving to drape my arm across her shoulder. I reach over to retake that hand with my other, pulling her close. She turns her head to me and blinks ever so slowly. She is so pale, her eyes clouded with a terrorizing vacancy.

Tears begin to beg at my own eyes now. Seeing her like this truly frightens me; I won't lose her. I can't. I stroke her arm, encouraging her to rest against me. I realize that sleep will be a distant memory, that no matter how exhausted she must be, it will not come, most likely not for a long time. When it does, the nightmares are bound to start. She will not go through this alone. I forbid it.

The car rumbles up the drive, scattering gravel upon our approach. Carson is there, standing at a severely stoic sense of attention. Mrs. Hughes is noticeably absent; I can only attempt to understand this as an escape from Anna. I know that in that firm heart of hers she loves her, that they love each other, but the unforgettable events of the trial would surely serve to test their relationship.

As I exit the car, I sigh heavily and give Carson a look at which I beg he translates into a sense of preparedness. I never let loose Anna's hand, even as the chauffer offers his own to assist her out of the car. She has aged in a day, more than anyone should ever have to. She stares straight ahead, determined to enter the house, head held high, eyes dry, though clouded with the same chilling detached vacancy that has refused to leave since the verdict was handed down.

Carson registers this and has an unprecedented, though extremely brief, visceral reaction. No matter what others may say about him, as they may also say about me, that man does have a heart. A rather big one, if you ask me. He knows that there are no words; as we pass, he lays a hand on Anna's shoulder and gives the slightest pat. She cannot look at him, but he understands. Carson always understands.

The house is eerily empty; I begin to realize that it has been planned this way. Surely apologies and comfort will be offered in time, but for now, silence and solitude is a masked blessing. Mrs. Hughes and Mama could not have planned a better arrival. I am thankful.

I cannot let go. I will not let go. I walk with her, every step of the way, never letting her hand leave my own. She will stay with me. I will look after and care for her the way she has me for years. It is the very least I can give her.

When we start to head towards my room, she looks to me, silently questioning, but too weary to protest. Words are futile. It is on rare occasion that we even need them anymore.

I turn the knob slowly and usher her in. She stops short of the bed and hangs her head.

"M'lady. I couldn't…"

For any words to escape her in this state of frantic exhaustion is a miracle. I won't have her wasting any more energy on useless protestations.

"Enough of that, now" I say as I ease her to sit on the neatly tucked spreads. I make my way to the dresser to pick out a nightgown for her, though I know quite well that she'll refuse sleep. I contemplate ringing for Dr. Clarkson. Surely there is something he could give her to make transitioning into rest easier, though he would be one more person to face.

Maybe Isobel. She trusts Isobel.

I have never had to take care of anyone before. At least, not like this. It was different when Matthew returned injured in the war. His wounds, at least the ones he dared share with me, were mostly physical. Emotional wounds need different tending to; I'm not sure that I am best suited to provide any cure.

I sure as hell will try.

Anna is so lost in this moment that I see her as a child awash in an inescapable nightmare. In the past few years, I have found that sometimes the best medicine for a broken spirit is a return to childhood innocence. Seeking refuge, or at the least distraction, in simplicity and those who love and care for you. Bates cannot be here, but I can, and I will, for as long as she needs.

I make a decision to cross into the intimate unknown. I will cross this line if only to give her a tiny sense of what she is owed, a repayment from my selfishness. It is nothing that Anna does not do for my sisters and I. Yes, it is part of her duties in her position here, but that does not mean that she does not deserve this simplest of comfort in her hour of need.

I gather up the best towels and draw her bath. She will not want to get in, but I must convince her that it will help her feel better. Feel better… I am not even sure that is possible. Trying is all I know to do now.

Prepared for a bit of a row, I find relief in the fact that she is too worn out to protest. She is blank, frightfully pale and still; I fear she is turning into a ghost right before my eyes. The tears start to come again, slow at first, then wracking. I fight so very hard against myself not to join her, scared that I am losing her to the insurmountable sadness. Instead, I gently wash her hair, soaping and rinsing, over and over until her body, and my nerves, begin to quiet.

Peace will come, but not before acceptance.

I fear for a moment that I may have to call on Mama to help me release her from the tub's warm hold, but she starts of her own accord. I can tell that she is beginning to feel an imposition, an improper crossing of the lines. I hate this. I open a towel wide, hoping that she understands enough to realize that my arms, along with my soul, are open to her now. I wrap them around her firmly, softly drying as I hold her close. She reaches to cling to the towel, releasing me from the task; I am happy to see even the slightest glimpse of life reaching out from her.

The nightgown is simple but the softest one I have. I drape it about her head; she lets it fall over her, cloaking her in my small offering of a haven. My hands work fast to dry her hair a bit before I bring her back to bed. I turn down the meticulously tucked linens and order her in.

I can see that she wants to say something, anything, but I know as well as she that no words are either fitting or necessary. I press my finger to her lips, brush the fallen strand of hair from her brow and lightly kiss her on the cheek.

I do not reveal to her my plans to call on Isobel but do darken the room. I know that she will not sleep. I turn to quietly leave, determined to only stay gone as briefly as possible, when I hear her, quiet as a church mouse, let out the tiniest squeak of a firmly suppressed cry. Her petite frame is battling the overwhelming emotion again, writhing under the covers.

"Oh Anna" I say as I rush back to the bed. Without hesitation, I climb in next to her and wrap her in my arms. "Let go. Please." I beg her to release the pain that has been festering for so long. The anguish of years of struggling against the hopelessness of Bates' marriage, the murder, the trial, and now the unimaginable verdict has infected and ravaged her but still she refuses to show any symptoms.

"I need you" I brokenly admit with all my heart as she finally lets her world fall apart.

I hold her as she sobs, tears soaking through the sheets and falling all about the both of us. We stay like this for what seems hours until her body can take no more and sleep powerfully overtakes her. I gently lay her back against the pillows, smooth her hair, plant one more brief kiss and silently leave the room.

I will not lose her.


End file.
